Eight Hundred and Fifteenth Year of the Exodus

Eight Hundred and Fifteenth Year After the Battle of the Sol System

Abby Bain threw up her hands and took another lap around her office. The habitat domes were down, the atmospheric generators were up and working, and the colonists were settling into their new lives on TRAPPIST-1d and -1e, now known as Nova Terra and Nova Mars, with a remarkably low amount of consternation. Her job should be simple. Finding new places to put the remaining two billion colonists should be a matter of mapping new relatively flat places on the surface of TRAPPIST-1e, dropping the needed habitation and utility domes out of orbit and sending a few bots to do the initial assembly work.

The problems were far more complex, to Abby’s unending frustration. For one, every world of the TRAPPIST-1 system was tidally locked to the star. That meant that just under half of their surface area was eternally baked in the pale red light of TRAPPIST-1, just under half was a frozen waste that saw no light, and only the thin terminator lines were actually habitable. There was just not enough space for everyone in the available space on Nova Earth and Nova Mars. The inner worlds were too hot by several hundred degrees celsius, and the outer world too cold by the same margin. Even Nova Mars was barely survivable with its average temperature of negative twenty seven degrees celsius.

In frustration, Abby turned to her terminal and its uplink to the Far Strider’s central computer, “Terminal, rerun analysis of all TRAPPIST-1 Geological data. Filter for surface anomalies, excluding human-created anomalies.”

“Searching, please stand by.”

Abby did not expect the search to find anything, but it gave her something to do. The alternative was to go ahead with mass material processing and refining to start creating orbital habitats. She had hoped to hold off on doing that for another five years or so, but it looked like…

“One anomaly found on TRAPPIST-1h. Structure analysis confirms that it is artificial in origin. Geological analysis confirms it as pre-dating humanity's presence in the TRAPPIST-1 system by approximately eight hundred years.”

Donn MacBrash deftly feathered the shuttle’s throttles, landing neatly in the lee of a rocky outcropping. “We’re here Admiral. Hope you remembered your thermal underwear!”

Admiral Supesu shook his head, “I hope you remembered yours, if you are still set on coming along to see this hunk of metal up close.”

“Hey it beats standing about in space waiting for nothing to happen. ‘S why I volunteered to be your shuttle pilot in the first place. How is the wife?”

“Grumpy, what else would you expect when she’s six months pregnant? Shuttle, begin environmental suit power-up sequence.”

“Admiral, Shuttle. Complying. Environmental suits will be ready in three minutes Admiral.”

“Ahh, she will get over it. What is she grumpy about now?”

“The availability, or lack thereof, of fried sweet pickles at all hours of the day.”

“Fried pickles?”

“Fried sweet pickles.”

“Can a kitchen bot even make those?”

“Not fast enough apparently.”

“Admiral, Shuttle. Environmental suits are ready.”

“Alright Donn, let us go for a walk.”

The metal fin stuck out of the ground at an unnatural angle. Even through their visors, still frosty after exiting the shuttle’s airlock, Donn and Korekage could tell that it was part of a spaceship of some sort. Their helmet lamps illuminated its black-tiled surface, its fishtail sweep broken up by missing tiles and a ragged missing chunk.

“Donn, what do you think that is? A wing? Some sort of stabilizer fin?”

“On a spaceship?”

“I mean, if whatever was flying this thing made it to go into an atmosphere, would they not need some sort of aerodynamic features?”

“That is what the counter-grav generators are for. Besides, they would have to re-design, reconfigure, or adapt the ‘wings’ for every atmosphere they encountered. This looks like some sort of solar fin or heat sink array to me. My old fuel barge had a bunch of them sticking out all over the place.”

“How big were they?”

“Solar fins were perhaps a few meters, though the solar arrays folded out to much larger. The heat sink fins near the thrusters were ten, perhaps twelve meters long. Why?”

“According to the orbital scans, this thing is at least twenty meters long and there is still more of it under the surface.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, big ship. let us go find Commander Dennis, see if his bots have found an entrance yet.”

The entrance that the excavator bots had found was a ragged hole in the side of the spaceship, made where the impact of the crash had torn open the hull. The metal was bent at the familiar, unnatural crash-induced angles. The edges were worn dull with time, and the shine had mostly gone out of them. Donn paused to look at the edge, wondering at its faded lustre.

“Admiral, have the bots figures out what this thing is made of?”

“Not yet Donn. Why?”

“Because some of these streaks kinda look like rust.”

“That can’t be. What race would be mad enough to make a ship out of iron?”

“Remember the bastards who invaded the Sol system? The autonomous mining drones went after their ship for some reason, so there is at least one race that would be that crazy.”

“You think that this ship is built by the same race of aliens Donn?”

“It’s a possibility we can not afford to ignore Admiral.”

Commander Dennis Asgir, commanding officer of the Nova Terra Void Guard’s Engineers, cracked his gum as he watched his robotic minions work. He would prefer to tap his foot in his habitual impatient manner, but the environmental suits were made to withstand cold, heat, radiation, and toxic atmospheres, not to allow one to tap their foot. At the moment, he was most appreciative of the radiation protection that his suit provided, although the insulation against TRAPPIST-1h’s insane cold ran a close second.

The reason for Dennis’ appreciation was the powerplant of the unknown spaceship. It looked like a reactor of some sort, and the radiation still emanating from it was enough to make parts of the room glow in the dark. Strangely, neither he nor any of his bots had seen a corpse yet. There was plenty of bulkhead and deckhead mounted automation equipment, if the mechanical grasping claws protruding at odd intervals were anything to go by. Dennis glanced at the giger counter (the needle was still all the way into the red) and shrugged mental shoulders. He certainly would not go near any improperly shielded reactor if he could help it.

“Commander Asgir! Good to see you so hard at work!”

“Good day to you too Admiral Supesu.”

“Any particular reason you aren’t tearing this thing apart to see how it works?”

“The glowing bits and redlined geiger counter not reason enough for you sir?”

“Quite good enough for me Commander, quite good enough. A question though, has any of your bots run an analysis of this ship’s hull yet?”

“Not yet sir, I’ve been a bit preoccupied with the radiation levels. Why do you ask?”

“Well, the Sol system mining droids decided to ‘mine’ one of the invader’s ships, indication a high-iron alloy. And, as Helmsman MacBrash pointed out, the edges of the torn bits of metal have these odd reddish-brown streaks that look somewhat like rust.”

Dennis cracked his gum again, “out of the mouths of… I’ll detail a few bots and and Lieutenant Briggs’ section to take a look at it. At the same time Admiral, I would ask you to respect your geiger counter’s warnings, and to avoid any hazard marked areas. It would not look good on my record to be the man who lost the Admiral of the Void Guard to a hole in the deckplate!”

“You and my wife both Commander Asgir.”

“Far be it from my mind to argue with such a wise woman, Sir.”

Lieutenant Avis Briggs was whistling while she worked. It would annoy Ensign Grey and the four Engineers under her command if they could hear her (the bots of course not caring at all) but with them scattered all about the ship Lieutenant Briggs was free to indulge herself while the bots diligently scraped fragments, drilled hull cores, and performed the field analysis. Her section was scattered all over the wrecked ship, surveying and testing as they went. She wasn’t sure why Commander Asgir had decided to add hull sampling to her duties, but Lieutenant Briggs was no woman’s fool and not about to argue with a full Commander. The check-ins of her section in her earpiece came like clockwork, and she settled back into a long, boring work rotation.

“Ensign Grey, Lieutenant Briggs.”

“Lieutenant Briggs, Enign Grey. Go ahead.”

“Ensign Grey, Lieutenant Briggs. One of the bots has found organic remains. Not human, not terrestrial.”

“Lieutenant Briggs, Enign Grey. I’m going to need more detail then that Ensign.”

“Ensign Grey, Lieutenant Briggs. That is all the detail I have at this time Lieutenant. The bots hit bone or something similar on one of their hull cores. I’m having them cut through the bulkhead a few meters away. Should be able to have a camera through in a few minutes. Out.”

“Lieutenant Briggs, Section. Set your bots to automatic and converge on Ensign Grey’s position. We’ve got something people!”

Helmsman Donn MacBrash stared about the ‘bridge’ space. It had clearly never been built with humans in mid. Everything was too short by half, and too wide by the same ratio. The helm controls were an obvious feature to him, featuring the same flight stick with its plethora of buttons, and the two extra displays. The captain’s chair was likewise readily identifiable from its prominent position and extraneous displays, though it looked more like an ancient roman dining couch then any acceleration chair Donn had ever seen. None of the lights were on and none of the buttons responded when pressed, so he figured that the spaceship was well and truly dead.

There was one display that Donn guessed was some sort of engineering display, given that it had an outline of the ship burned into the display. He recognised the fin protruding from the ground as the one on the back of the ship, but was puzzled by the odd shape of the aft for a moment. Then Donn realised what was missing.

“Where are the thrusters?”

“What did you say Donn?”

“Sorry Admiral. I’m looking at what I think is some sort of engineering display. It has an image of the ship burned in, but it looks funky as can be. I don’t see any main thrusters.”

“Then how does this spaceship move? It obviously got here somehow.”

“That is one for the Engineers I think. I just fly spaceships, I don’t build or fix them.”

“Admiral Supesu, Commander Asgir.”

“Commander Asgir, Admiral Supesu. Send traffic.”

“Admiral Supesu, Commander Asgir. Two things. One: the main reactor contains some sort of gravity-warping apparatus, possibly a containment field generator. Whatever these aliens are, they certainly weren't using a fusion reactor or a fission pile for power. I have the bots working on gathering specifications so that we may be able to reverse engineer this monster, add in some proper radiation shielding, and see what kind of power output we can get.

Two: You and Helmsman Donn were correct about the hull. It is some sort of iron-rich alloy. Horribly inefficient structural integrity for its weight by our standards, but maybe these aliens had a good reason for using it. Wait one.”

Donn looked over at Admiral Supesu, who was staring at a set of displays surrounded by a number of covered buttons. “What is that lot do you think?”

“Weapons control, probably.”

“So this is some sort of warship?”

“Probably. An armed scout at the least, but if the number of buttons and status indicator lights are anything to go by, then this ‘scout’ was better armed than anything the Far Strider’s records indicate was at the battle of the Sol System. On either side.”

“Commander Asgir, Admiral Supesu.”

“Admiral Supesu, Commander Asgir. Send traffic.”

“Commander Asgir, Admiral Supesu. Lieutenant Briggs and Ensign Grey have found something you need to see. I’m sending you their position now.”

“Admiral Supesu, Commander Asgir. What is it?”

“Admiral Supesu, Commander Asgir. If Ensign Grey’s guess is correct, and he’s a smart young officer, then the two of them have found the body of one of the aliens.”

Admiral Supesu looked down at the remains on the stretcher in a mixture of disgust and confusion. It was humanoid in form, in that it was bilaterally symmetrical, with a head set atop a torso, two limbs just below where the head joined the torso, and two more limbs at the other end of the torso. The similarities to a human being ended there. The skull had a trio of sockets that presumably held eyes at some point in the creature’s life, and the mouth was a circular hole ringed with sharp fangs. All four limbs had four swivel joints, with a ‘shoulder’, two ‘elbows’, and a ‘wrist’ leading down to a bird foot like grasper. The graspers on the upper limbs had seven multi-knuckled ‘fingers’ arranged in a circle, each ending in a short talon. The two lower limbs had only four ‘toes’, but three of them were double boned, as if two thin toes had merged into a thicker one. The spine was jointed strangely, as if the alien switched between leaning far forwards and standing upright on a regular basis.

Admiral Supesu’s gauntleted hand tapped at the face mask of his environmental suit before he remembered that he was wearing the thing and could not scratch his chin. “What in the worlds do we call this thing?”

Helmsman Donn MacBrash flipped a gauntleted hand in confusion, “Three-eyed seven-fingered Earth-killers is too much of a mouthful for me. Anyone got a better suggestion?”

Ensign Grey shuffled his feet nervously, but did not say anything. Lieutenant Briggs shook her helmet, not wanting to step forward.

Commander Asgir cracked her gum, “Traditionally the discoverer of a new species gets to name it. Ensing Grey, do you have any ideas?”

“Only thing coming to me would be the Twisted. As in, a twisted limbed abomination.”

Admira Supesu Nodded his agreement, “The Twisted it is.”

Commander Dennis Asgir consulted the physics textbook, looked back at the reverse-engineered schematics, traced a line, and looked back at the textbook. He could not believe his eyes, but the scans of the Twisted Spaceship’s ‘reactor’ were beyond doubt. What he had supposed to be a ‘reactor’ was nothing of the sort, it was some kind of inertialess drive! The Twisted had somehow managed to create and cage a gravitic anomaly akin to a black hole. Suspending it in the middle of their ship, they would effectively be able to change which direction was ‘down’ at will, and ‘fall’ towards it at whatever acceleration they chose. As far as Dennis could tell, the only upper limit on their acceleration was whatever stresses their particle screens could stand, the structural integrity of the spaceship, and the gravitic tolerances of its crew. The radiation saturating the compartment must have been from when the drives containment had failed spectacularly, perhaps during a change in mode of operation.

Dennis was not completely sure, but if it was possible to warp gravity both inside of and around a ship that much, then would it not also be possible to warp the space itself around a ship? And if space was mutable, then space-time was equally mutable almost by definition. And that meant that the proposition of an Alcubierre drive and faster than light travel was not so improbable after all.

But being a Void Guard-trained military engineer by training, Dennis could not help but think of other applications of gravity manipulation. He wondered how strong a gravitic field could be generated over how large of an area, and at what range. Human gravitational plate technology was only good up to a few gravities of acceleration, eight at the most on Void Guard ships, and then only for a range of perhaps two and a half meters. Just enough to go from deckhead to deckhead, though one did have to be careful of the reduced effect near the very top of a given grav plate’s field. But if a field could be generated that started, say, ten meters form the hull of a ship and went outwards for even a half of a meter, with a strength of a few dozen or hundred gravities…

Commander Dennis Asgir could not think of any weapon that could penetrate such a field. Mass driver rounds would get torn apart, or pulled off trajectory from the ship. Far more fragile missiles would simply disintegrate, torn apart by forces that they were never built to withstand. Only near light speed or perhaps faster than light speed radiation would have a chance of penetrating such a field, and even then it would be ‘bent’ or ‘distorted’...

Abby Bain rubbed tired hands through her hair as she stared at space habitat schematics. The Far Strider did not have any of them in her holds, on account of their size. The only thing for it was to set up the heavy industrial domes and go to work creating a void-born industrial platform to build one set of tools to build another set of more complex tools needed to build the places the remaining two billion human colonists would have to live.

She only hoped that she could get it done in time. The Far Strider’s cryosleep tubes were rated for another ten terran years or so of use, fifteen if she were to run them to a near zero safety margin. Abby pulled up the messaging program on her terminal and started making calls to some of her subordinates, telling them to begin putting contingency plans into motion. She did not like having to go to what had been regarded as an outlandish contingency plan, but it was inevitable given the chance in the Far Strider’s destination system.

She had a thought as she was about to shut her terminal off. Perhaps the Void Guard could reverse-engineer something off of the crashed ship she had found. Something that might let them build a shipyard instead of simple habitats, that would let them build a new Far Strider, or at least enough of one to transfer the sleeping colonists from one cryosleep facility to another one…

Abby Bain snorted at the thought. The universe was nowhere nearly that co-operative. She should know, it was her job to make it comply to what humanity needed after all.